I

He had been pacing up and down that small tent that served as his sleeping quarters that entire night. Nevalle raised the bottle of scotch to his lips and took a long swig. It did nothing to clear his head only confounded him further but he cared not in the least. The bottle emptied. He let it drop and it started rolling off but he did not notice. He took a few steps and tripped over it, stumbling forward. The pain in his thigh, usually dull, jolted to life, searing through his leg. He bit his lower lip to keep from yelling out, growing even more frustrated at his helplessness.

"Gods damn it!" he slurred, kicking the empty scotch bottle out of the way and reached the far end of the tent. He parted the door flaps and looked out, inhaling the sweet night air, the inebriation waning just a bit. The sky was dashed with blue and he realised dawn was near.

It had been several months since the crisis with the King of Shadows. Winter had come and gone, it was late spring and summer was just around the corner. She could be anywhere. Khelgar had heard from neither Ammon Jerro nor any of the others gone off in various directions in search of clues. She could be dead by now. No! He could not afford to think along those lines. She was alive. She had to be alive. He simply could not bear the thought of losing her again. He would go mad. But where to find her?

For the hundredth time that night, he debated going back to the Mere of Dead Men to see if there was anything in the rubble that would tell him where the mysterious shadow elementals Khelgar described had fled. But he knew he would find nothing. And if on the odd chance something had been left behind, the likelihood that he could recover something in the all consuming swamp so many months later was next to non-existent. But not impossible.

"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it to fucking Hell!" He gritted his teeth; he was using profanity now. It was not something he indulged: he considered it beneath his station to swear like common peasantry.

A portal that looked like a hole. Three elementals that looked like they were formed of solid shadow. Those were all the clues he had.

"All portals look like fucking holes!" He said aloud, using profanity again. This time he no longer cared if he sounded like a drunken sailor.

He dragged back to his bunk and threw himself down on it. His thigh was throbbing with pain; he'd been standing on it for so many hours, pacing in this tiny cramped space back and forth ever since he had returned, to no avail. He had no answers. On one hand he had his mission: Nasher's direct, unequivocal orders to reach Rashemen post haste, and on the other he had this to deal with – could he ignore it as mad rambling of a drunken dwarf, hallucinations conjured by a mind terribly traumatised by what it had endured. It must have been dark after all and the commotion great, as the Shadow Temple caved in around Khelgar. He was devoted to her. Had he not insisted on taking her place during the Rite of Tyr, when Torio Claven challenged Nasher's verdict through Trial by Combat. Nevalle frowned. Now that he considered it, the possibility that Khelgar had imagined everything was quite real. Perhaps what he really saw was the darkness swallowing her, crushing her. He himself had recovered her cloak. He had held it in his very hands. Himself pulled out the torn fabric, buried under tonnes of slab. If something or someone had abducted her, why would they have taken the trouble to rip off her cloak and leave it behind for him to mourn over, yet he could not shake the thought… She was alive.

"Damn it!"

Months had passed, even if something had taken her that night, Nevalle had to consider the probability that she was dead by their hands now. He felt that familiar surge, that blight settling over him at the thought. No! She was alive. She had to be, he simply could not bear to lose her again. He must find her. But how?

All he had to go on was a dark portal and three shadowy elementals.

A vast green landscape stretched to infinity all around him. Gentle rolling hills dipped and surged, lush with pale blossoms and verdant grass; the sky a rich azure canopy above. Billowy plumes of cloud, white as snow drifted leisurely and behind them, peeking in and out was a kind yet invigorating sun. Its warmth enveloped all, gentle like a kiss, everything bathed in golden bloom.

He treaded carefully over the soft moss beneath his bare feet, drenched in dew and cool against his skin, amazed by this perfectly glorious landscape. Wild flowers, delicate and soft brushed against him and the breeze wrapped around him like a loving embrace. It was so peaceful, so tranquil, so perfect. Up and down the slopes he strolled, never tiring; every step effortless and comforting.

He climbed the knoll in front to a vantage point. Before him the slopes eased away and the sight of an expansive lake, gleaming like quicksilver in the lap of the hills, stretched before him. Sunlight danced upon its surface, reflecting as brilliantly as a finely cut diamond. The sight was so enchanting, for many moments he found himself spellbound and could not remove his eyes from the waters. Then he noticed, in stark contrast to the rest of the scene, a dark blemish on the opposite embankment.

Nevalle moved to the edge of the lake, the water touched his toes; it was cool, the crash of waves upon the shore soothing, yet the dark shadow he had seen on the far side intrigued him more. He squinted against the sunlight trying to make out and as his eyes adjusted he realised it was the mouth of a cave. He felt pulled towards the cave, something like gravity but different, more subtle yet just as insistent drew him. He felt compelled to immerse himself in the water and swim across.

Every stroke invigorated and renewed him. No matter how fast he swam or how hard he kicked his legs, propelling himself across the lake he did not tire. It was as if he was floating through air. Nothing offered any resistance to him.

He reached the shore and stood before the entrance to the cave. An outcropping of rock, laden with ferns and moss projected over the opening and no light penetrated the darkness within. Whatever drew him here was within the shadows. The urge was stronger than ever, every cell in his body felt compelled to answer that call. Nevalle moved closer still, to the very edge of the cave and strained to make out the source of the great pull upon him.

He shielded his face from the glare of the sun and narrowed his eyes. His heart began to beat faster, just beyond in the darkness he seemed to make out a human form. He took the last few steps and entered the cave.

As his eyes grew accustomed to the dark, the figure before him became clear. It was a woman. She seemed to be sitting with her legs folded back neatly under her, back straight and completely still. The only movement was in her hair: caught in the breeze, tugging lightly and swaying gently like a curtain. He noticed there was not a stitch of clothing upon her. Feeling awkward and embarrassed to find a woman thus, he reached to unhook his cloak to throw upon her, struggling to avert his eyes but to no avail. His eyes held fast. Her back arched statuesquely, flowing into her shoulders and arms, and then tapered into a narrow waist before rounding out into her hips. The skin, pale and smooth was just slightly sun-kissed. There was a familiarity about the figure that teased him and he scoured his mind to place it.

The rich hazel brown hair tumbling past her shoulders, the curve of her spine, the too familiar tone of her skin and then all of a sudden it struck him, like a bolt of thunder. Her! It was her! He leapt forward, his hands trembling and knees weak, her name tumbling off his tongue but no sound came out. He called to her again and again, yelled at the top of his lungs but all remained silent. He reached out to take her still, silent form in his embrace but met no resistance. To his dismay, he finally realised he was incorporeal. And then everything began to fade and melt around him.

He woke with a start.

II

His heart felt heavy and Nevalle tasted salt. Dried tears stained his cheeks and he realised he had been crying through the dream. He could not remember when sleep had overcome him. It was uncomfortably warm inside the tent and his head pounded. There was a thin sheet of perspiration all over his body and he felt very hot. Suddenly his stomach lurched and he retched, quickly he reached for the pitcher of water on the rickety table beside the bunk and drank deep. As cool water trickled down his gullet, he felt a little improved. The sun was high and everything within the tent was bathed in a stiff golden light; he guessed it must be well past noon. Cursing himself, he splashed his face with water to drive away the sleep and groggily pulled on his clothes. The Lieutenant would be worried, he would have to look for him, apologise and offer some explanation, but first he had to find some coffee to cancel the effects of all the alcohol he had imbibed. His stomach growled and he could not remember when he had last eaten.

"How terrible you look!" Startear attacked him as soon as he entered the mess lounge, staring down his nose disapprovingly at him, "You stayed up all night didn't you!"

"I need coffee." It was all he said, sinking down into an armchair beside the wizard and pressing his fingers to his temples in an attempt to ease the throbbing in his head.

"You've been drinking too!" Startear shook his head and requested a mess attendant who had shown up, to bring some coffee for them.

"I don't need a lecture, Startear."

"Hmph! Well, you could use one. Look at yourself. Do you know what time it is?" "It's 3 pm! …In the afternoon!'

"Just stop." He leaned back, rubbing his forehead and trying to clear his head but Startear carried on his ranting without pause and all Nevalle could do was stop listening.

Soon enough, the coffee arrived and much to Nevalle's satisfaction, the cook had thoughtfully included some shepherd pie. He poured himself a mug and sampled a piece of the pie, it was just passable but famished as he was, he did not complain. The coffee eased his headache somewhat and he found the hangover from his binge drinking receding.

"I've been giving yesterday's events some deep thought." Startear finally mumbled through a mouthful of food.

Nevalle did not reply. He looked at the wizard, his expression halfway between simply sullen and downright aggravated. Startear grated on his nerves every minute and he did not relish the thought of him interfering in his personal affairs.

"In Waterdeep, my place has state of the art scrying equipment! I wager I could locate your Lady friend in no time. I just need to get there."

So that was what he was after, thought Nevalle. Of all the unscrupulous things he would never have put past Startear, using her as leverage to coerce him into going to Waterdeep had not crossed Nevalle's mind. It was a new low, even for him.

"It is nothing to concern yourself about, wizard." He said, fighting to restrain the surge of anger building within. "I have explained to you before, I am on official business and cannot neglect my orders." That much was true but as anger subsided, that fickle thing called hope, eager to rush at any mention of the remotest possibility, surfaced in its stead. Maybe he could scry her out. She was alive. He was a wizard...maybe…maybe…No! He would be strong in the face of this, not given in to weakness. Not allow this devious man to manipulate him into disobeying Nasher's direct orders. It would be treason.

Nevalle felt hot under his collar and loosened it. He sipped from his coffee, leaned back and closed his eyes to herald his thoughts. He was thinking mad things now. Truly Khelgar's unexpected revelation had at last driven him insane. To think his mind had wandered to such thoughts. To disobey Nasher! The shame it would bring to him, to his family. It was unthinkable. His first and foremost duty was to Neverwinter and to Lord Nasher, he reminded himself harshly.

His earliest memories were of that very duty being drilled into his mind. He had entered his father's service as squire when he was barely five years old. He rose before daybreak to tend to his morning duties before school, and until his mother tucked him back into bed, he trained at his father's side. In the beginning he learned to tend to his sword and armour and was taught the proper way to grease and polish his weapon, to scrub armour. Later on he trained to wield the blade, to move encapsulated in steel. Memories of years of grooming horses and clearing stables, swinging his father's much too big bastard sword at training dummies rose in his mind.

Once every month on Sunday at the Temple of Tyr, he would be presented to Nasher. Dressed in his best, his unruly hair finally combed into submission by his mother, his face scrubbed and his tiny heart bursting with pride; he would report his progress to the ruler of Neverwinter. Back then, Nasher appeared larger than life. A figure of huge proportions surrounded by a multitude of hulking men and Nevalle's tiny hands would tremble and sweat and his voice was never even. It was only once he had grown older, that he realised that Nevalle was no bigger than other men and the multitude surrounding him was just a handful of his bodyguard.

His father had been a Knight before him, and his father before him. They had served Neverwinter for generations, proudly laying down their lives to uphold her laws and integrity. He remembered his father on his deathbed, succumbing to injuries sustained in the war with Luskan. His mind had never been the same again, and his body was giving up as well. He had aged decades in the space of months and it was an old man who held fast Nevalle's hand and made him swear to live a life of honour and courage in service.

"I need a drink." He stated flatly. The mug of coffee was finished but the anguish he felt, torn between his orders and his longing for her remained strong as ever. He knew he could not drown it in alcohol but the urge to try anyway drove him.

"No you don't! Get a hold of yourself." Startear resumed his preaching going on endlessly about the evils of alcohol and how it would give him cirrhosis of the liver. Nevalle wanted to pummel him into the ground, instead he reached for another slice of the pie. When he had finally run out of admonitions, the wizard continued, "If only you'd listen to me. I really want to help you."

"At the cost of repeating myself, I cannot take a detour to Waterdeep. Lord Nasher has ordered me to Rashemen. I have to go."

"Oh! Rashemen! That's pretty far away. What could Neverwinter want with Rashemen. I'm surprised you even know it exists. It's on the other end of the world, next to Thay." Nevalle sighed, but Startear continued, oblivious to his consternation.

"Many years ago, when you were still defecating all over your nursemaids, I was in that area – Thay, and Rashemen too briefly. In Rashemen, they don't allow men to dabble in the arcane you know. They have witches…" Startear trailed off, seemingly lost in some memory.

"Thay has a number of arcane teaching institutions though," he continued abruptly. "I was a fellow once. When you get there, you'll hear much about Red Wizards, talented bunch they are." He paused again, lost in thought before picking up once more, "Oh yes, where was I… ah yes, now I remember. I didn't think you were going that far away. It complicates matters somewhat. Why, you may never return, unfriendly region I must say and that would throw a hatchet in my plans."

"You reassure me." Nevalle replied dryly.

"I suppose it can't be helped." Startear said with resignation, "Here. Take this." He handed Nevalle a short silver sceptre, about a foot in length, elaborately patterned all over. "The charge should, I think be just enough for there and back, and I strongly advise that you don't attempt the journey physically! It would take months, years even!"

Nevalle knit his brows in puzzlement. "What is this?" "I'm afraid I don't quite follow."

"Oh you are such a simpleton. I suppose you don't know how to cast from a wand?" Nevalle shook his head. He did not. "Well I guess I'll have to cast it for you the first time but pay attention because you'll have to bring yourself back."

"But what is it?" He was no less certain.

"It's a wand! What else could it be?" Startear exclaimed, annoyed. "It's a Wand of Teleportation. It can cast 'teleport person'. It will transport you to wherever you want, instantly. Only on this plane though, it doesn't do interplanar travel. The charge used depends on the distance. It should just be enough to take you to Rashemen and back, so don't go about wasting it, or you'll find yourself stranded halfway in the middle of nowhere!" "Whenever you're ready, let me know and I'll activate it. You'll be there in the blink of an eye."

Nevalle was mystified and speechless. It took him a few moments to wrap his mind around Startear's sudden generosity. "I'm…I don't know what to say. This… I cannot accept this. It must be very valuable."

"It is very valuable. Only a handful of people can do this magic and I can count them on my fingers. I paid a huge amount of money to acquire it. But I insist, you must take it and use it. I do owe you for saving my life back there. And debts must be paid off. Take it."

"But, why don't you use this to get to Waterdeep?" Nevalle still could not bring himself to accept Startear's valuable gift.

"Do you ever listen? It can only cast 'Teleport Person'! I can't leave my carriage behind; I have very valuable scrolls and materials inside. I must get everything to Waterdeep."

"Why do you want to give me this? It is very dear and you must have purchased it for a reason. I cannot accept this."

"Will you listen to the words that are coming out of my mouth! I owe you for saving my life!" Startear looked exasperated; he exhaled and then continued, "Look, I can tell what's bothering you. You want to look for the woman, but you can't turn away from this mission of yours. There's nothing we can do about her, until I get to Waterdeep. So my solution is to hasten you on your mission so you can deal with whatever you have to, then come to Waterdeep and look me up. It will take me a few more weeks to get there and there is the Conference as well. In the meantime, you can finish your business, meet up with me and I can scry for that woman. It's the best solution and it's the least I can do."